The Darkness
by ShootingStar911
Summary: It was his only true enemy.
1. Part I

It had been five years since Melchior Gabor set a foot into his hometown and he wasn't shocked to see that nothing hadn't changed. The building had aged as well as the people but that was it; nothing had changed, he noticed that the graveyard had more headstones now and he wondered briefly how many others had failed to escape.

He doesn't bother to go home, he doesn't have one of those, not for a very long time. His home died with loose ebony curls, tantalizing brown eyes and a shy smile.

The graveyard, despite the new headstones, is still exactly the same. He knows exactly where to walk, it is etched in his memory. It is still there, these past years haven't been some sick dream but rather a twisted reality.

He collapses in front of the tombstone, numbly running his fingers across the name etched into the slowly aging stone.

"I should have saved you." He murmurs quietly to himself, trying to stop the hot tears from spilling over.

"Melchi?" He hadn't heard that nickname in a long time, he looks over and sees another familiar ghost walking towards him, except this ghost was real.

"Ilse?" He asks quietly, she nods sadly.

"I come here to talk to Moritz sometimes, when I'm lonely," She confesses sitting next to him, she looks at Wendla's tombstone sadly "she was beautiful. I remember that much about her, she had the prettiest eyes I'd ever seen." Ilse whispered quietly and Melchior nodded.

"The most beautiful gir-woman I've ever known or will ever know." He states firmly, Isles touches his shoulder lightly.

"You think of her often?" She asks softly.

"Every day."

"Moritz is never far from my mind either, there have been lovers and men throughout the years but none of them will ever be Moritz. I gather you feel the same?"

There had been women and trysts throughout the years, yes, but none of them would ever be Wendla, his Wendla.

"Do you know what it feels like Ilse to love someone so wholly and be the reason for their death? Do you know the pain of living with that, if I had not done what I did, Wendla would be here. She would have had the chance to live, but I was selfish and look where she ended up. Buried at fourteen years old." Melchior hissed angrily, Ilse removed her hand from his shoulder and stared at him sympathetically.

"I was with Moritz the night he- I tried to persuade to come with me. I loved him so much Melchi, just as you loved Wendla. Do you think they know how we love them, how much they haunt us?" Ilse replied. Melchior looked at her, he sometimes forgot in his own grief that other people missed them too, Ilse especially.

"I think they knew. I liked to think Wendla did and Moritz too, I miss them so much and I feel so utterly selfish because I got to escape and they never got the chance because of selfish acts, two people never got the chance to live as we have." Melchior whispered, hot tears falling from his cheeks once more. Isle leant over, tenderly wiping them away with her small hand.

"I like to think that Moritz lives through me and Wendla through you. It feels as if they are always with us does it not?"

"It does, she is with me always. I can still feel her heartbeat."

"We must not be sad for them Melchi, they wouldn't want that for us. They would want us to smile and live, if for anything, for them. No more living in the shadows, we must shine for Moritz and Wendla!" Ilse said, gripping Melchior tightly. They were all each other had now.

"I don't love you." Melchior said, barely above an undertone and Ilse nodded.

"I don't love you either." She replies, their hands entwining together.

They rose together, Melchior casting one last look at the graves.

"Say goodbye to the darkness Melchi." Ilse said quietly as they slowly walked from the graveyard together.

He did, he said goodbye to this darkness. Wendla would forever be within him, his beautiful and tragic ghost.

But at least he wasn't alone with his ghosts anymore.


	2. Part II

There was something wrong with Ilse. Melchior was a smart man and it was apparent she wasn't the same young woman she had been all those years ago, it was as if her light was slowly dwindling and Melchior was powerless to stop it.

Some days she was excellent, almost like the old Ilse again. They would spend the day in bed, sleeping together and drinking wine, than her bad days would happen. She would lock herself in her art room and not come out for days. Eventually she would emerge, even more sullen than before she entered.

They never spoke of Wendla or Moritz. That night in the cemetery had been the first and last time. Ilse would always stiffen up at the mere mentions of their names, it had always bothered Melchior because sometimes all he wanted to do was talk about them.

The thought of getting married never once crossed their minds, it didn't feel right when their hearts didn't belong to the other. They never conceived children either, though that was actually a genuine shock (it often made Melchior think that maybe a child was conceived through love making rather than just sex itself), the discussion of children never arose either.

Life was pleasant for many years, than it happened. One night, it had been a spring evening when Melchior had stumbled upon Ilse in her art room; a sharp blade placed in her hands and she staring at her bare wrist intensely.

There had been struggle, though Melchior had won, he was much stronger physically. He had held a sobbing Ilse in his arms.

"Don't let them get me Melchi." She whispered into his chest, he felt like for a brief moment he was cradling an infant.

"I won't." He states nobly.

He had already let the monsters take away his Wendla and his Moritz, he refused to lose the last worthwhile thing in his sorry life.

****

* * *

It gets worse as the years passed. Melchior fought her monsters when she could not. He protected her from the darkness.

Though eventually the darkness wins. He had only left their small apartment in Berlin to get some more wine and fruit, he had returned to a quiet house, no soft humming's coming from Ilse.

He knows instantly that something is wrong. Ilse always hummed after they slept together.

He finds her in her art room, the pool of blood surrounding her and the razor lying there, glinting cruelly in the sunlight, beside her.

Melchior doesn't know how long he cradles her, begging her to come back to him but she doesn't.

They never do.

They bury her on a Wednesday, she is buried in her hometown. Next to Moritz ironically.

Melchior doesn't cry, he feels as if he has no tears left.

When everyone has left the grave yard, a few sending him cautious glances (some muttering that Melchior Gabor was in fact damned because he did not believe in God) and the rest not even acknowledging his existence.

He stares at the three graves that reside near one another.

Two old.

One new.

He would be joining them soon enough.


	3. Part III

Melchior had always prided himself on being a strong person. Ever since he could remember, he had always his own beliefs. He didn't let small minds get in the way of achieving his goals.

Deep down he'd never realized how selfish he was.

Wendla had died because of his actions.

He should have been there for Moritz when he needed him most but he was too involved with himself to notice the deep despair his friend had sunk into.

He hadn't even be there for Ilse, he should have been strong enough for the both of them but had failed yet again to save someone, she had the chance to do what she did because he had wanted more wine. Ilse hadn't have cared otherwise but once again, he never really thought of those around him.

He is still standing in the graveyard when he feels someone place a soft hand on his shoulder, he turns around, he isn't shocked to see his aged mother standing there, looking at him with sympathetic eyes.

The looks repulses him.

"Mama." He says evenly.

"I'm so sorry Melchior." She whispers softly.

He hates to admit it but his mother's soft, understanding voice still soothes him. He looks at her, his face expressionless.

"She is happier where she is now." He mumbles quietly, refusing to look at the fresh headstone that rested next to an old one.

Add another ghost to add.

"I'm sure she loved you Melchior." His mother whispers quietly. Melchior shakes his head.

"She did not love me, as I did not love her."

He glances at the grave in the next row over, his heart beating cruelly in his chest and for the first time in many years he hears another fain heartbeat joining his own. He cringes and pulls away from his mother's hand.

"My heart died along with a fourteen year old girl and our baby mama." He spits out before walking away from the graveyard.

His mother glancing sadly as she watches her son walk away from her once more.

"Don't lose hope Melchior." Is all she whispers quietly to herself.

* * *

He returns to Berlin as soon as he can, that town makes him fell ill to his stomach. Too many dark secrets resided there, too many painful memories and too many ghosts.

He walks into Ilse's art room, the faint smell of blood mixing in with the paint, he looks down at the dark red stain resting on the floor. His face contorts and he bites back the tears.

Clearly he wasn't enough to make Ilse want to stay in this world.

He wondered briefly where she was. He didn't believe in God but he believed in heaven, well at least he thought he did.

He was logical but the thought of not ever seeing Wendla or Moritz (and now Ilse) again, even in another life, made him feel like there was nothing worth working towards or fighting for. He didn't want to think of them as nothing more than rotting corpses in the ground.

He walks out of the art room, violently slamming the door behind him.

Today the darkness won.

* * *

He didn't know why he was here; in the place of his youth. It looked newer than he remembered. He had visited briefly before leaving for London, he hadn't returned since.

The last thing he remembered was lying in his bed. Hs friends standing around him with sad eyes. He glances around, the sun is shining and he can tell it's spring due to intoxicating scent of the flowers blooming.

"Melchi?" He hears a familiar voice speak, a voice that had haunted him for too many years. He turns around and sees innocent brown orbs boring into his own.

"Wendla." He whispers out and she smiles at him.

"Your home." She says, clapping her hands happily and smiling brightly.

This is dream he tells himself, some sick dream. One he didn't want to awake from. He glances down at his hands, they aren't aged like they are suppose to be, he feels his face. No feeling of the faint outline of wrinkles and he wonders briefly if he looks as young as Wendla remembers him.

"I don't have a home." He mutters to her and she lets out that beautiful carefree laugh, one he had longed to hear for so many torturous years.

"No, home is here." She says softly, her smile faltering a little.

"This is a dream?" He asks her, she shakes her head.

"It was time for you to come home. Moritz and Ilse are here too. I think they are picking flowers in the field or rather Ilse is and Moritz is watching her. They will be so happy to see you!" She exclaims, twirling around. Her beautiful white dress flowing with her.

"How did you know I would be here?" He asks sceptically and Wendla offers him a small smile.

"I could feel your heartbeat." She informs him.

"_I'm home?_" He asks once again, everything suddenly dawning on him.

He had his Wendla back and this time nothing or no one could take her from him. He smiles (for what feels like the first time in years) at her and she smiles back, taking his hand into her tiny one. Looking up at him. Her other hand coming up and brushing his cheek lightly, a knowing smile coming across her face.

"Your _home _Melchi." She whispers.

And for the first time in over thirty years, he finally believes in something.

It wasn't a god.

It wasn't heaven either.

It was _his_ Wendla.

And that was enough.

It was always enough.

**THE END**


End file.
